The unbearable weight of independence

I was born and raised in Haiti for most of my childhood, with the exception of a 2-year period (between the ages of 9 and 11) when my mom and I lived in Brooklyn, New York.  She had left my father and wanted to start a new, less violent life for herself.  Who could blame her?  It’s not easy being someone’s punching bag.  My mom had dreams, but I was born when she was just 19, an orphan, and unmarried.  That was not an easy situation for a young girl from a good family in Haiti.  My dad did right by her and married her when I was about three years old, after some resistance from his dad.  I was Daddy’s precious little girl.  My grandpa’s too but he died when I was barely four years old.  My only memories of my grandfather were of him watching me take my first step (YES, I do remember that) and being so excited that he startled me and I fell on my rump. The other memory is of me lying on his stomach and hugging him as he lay sick in bed.

I spent my childhood in two worlds.  One where I was horrified, watching my father ruthlessly beat my mother senseless, and then, send her on her umpteenth visit to the doctor to patch her up; the other, with a loving father who showered his little girl with love and affection and countless little gifts, and told her little corny jokes to make her laugh. His love for me was the only thing, as far as I can recall, that had ever brought my father to tears.  But sometimes, the two worlds collided and I got caught between punches and blows.  I had mixed feelings about my dad.  It was always an internal fight between the hero and the villain.  I loved him and hated him at the same time.  I still think about that sometimes, but the overwhelming feeling today is that I miss him.  He was taken away much too soon.

That experience taught me two things: 1) I could probably kill anyone who tried to physically abuse me the way my dad abused my mom, or die trying (sorry for that, but that’s how I feel); and, 2) I needed to be independent and never have to rely on any man for my own survival.  This was a lesson that my father himself reinforced during our talks.  Since my mother couldn’t pursue a higher education because she had me so young, and also because of my father’s domineering ways, she relied financially on him for years until she mustered up the courage to leave him for a second (and final) time and start a new life for herself.  One where she took control of her own life and made her own decisions.  I was 16 years old, then, and how very proud I was of her!  This was not an easy thing to achieve in Haiti.  Up until some years ago when the Ministry of Women’s Rights (MCFDF) proposed legislation to protect women from their abusive partners, there was no recourse for a battered wife or girlfriend.  And today, it is still a struggle for women to escape from their abusers.  And not just the physical abusers, but also those who use their position of authority, whether in schools or at work, to get young girls and women to do their bidding. The Ministry and many women’s groups have done a lot to sensitize both men and women to the wrongness of all of this, but Haiti still has a very long way to go in that regard.

This desire to be independent has guided me most of my adult life.  It has been both my pride and my curse.  It has helped me to reclaim myself after a failed marriage, but it has also complicated things for me.  This self-sufficient attitude has also contributed to years of me being and doing things alone, not allowing or trusting anyone to make decisions for me, or even taking their advice.  This has had significant impact on my personal and romantic life, not being able to truly let go of control and to simply trust and share.  And though I’ve always been passionate about the notion of love (I was a loyal subscriber to Harlequin Romances for years 😉 ), I didn’t feel I had much luck with it.  Nope, no Prince Charming for me.  I was damaged goods.  And “too cerebral”, I was once told by a male friend.  I can’t say that he is wrong…

I work out some of these feelings and issues through Vivienne’s character in “Nonstop Oslo”.   Though she knows Logen is well-meaning and probably the best thing to have happened in her life, Vivienne isn’t sure that this love is real, and she is apprehensive about letting go and giving someone so much power in her life.  But power isn’t what Logen is seeking, something which Vivienne must understand if she does not want to miss out on this second chance at love that life is offering her…

Me and my mom in Brooklyn, New York, circa 1973.